Tracie Peterson - [Land of Shining Water 02]

by The Quarryman's Bride

His mother’s letter about the tragedy had hinted that his father considered Tavin’s brother-in-law’s death to be more than just an accident. The entire matter smacked of an underhanded threat gone awry. Sten had been an expert in the use of explosives. He’d learned to handle powder and dynamite from his own father and wouldn’t have made such deadly mistakes. Of course, no one could prove anything—at least that was his mother’s summation. No one could even say for certain what had happened to cause the explosion to go off sooner than it should have.

  “I’ll be careful, Father. Maybe it’s time to post some of the men as guards, or hire some new men to watch over the quarry.”

  His father’s face grew as red as Luthias’s had. “Mebbe it’s time to teach those troublemakers a lesson.”

  Tavin could see that Luthias was unaffected by the discussion. He was sitting at his desk, rummaging through a stack of papers.

  Tavin looked back to his father and chose his words carefully. “Maybe so, but you’d not want Mother to bear the possible consequences of that tactic either. No matter if you set the men straight at the end of a gun or they reinforce their beliefs on you . . . Mother will be the one who suffers.”

  His father obviously calmed himself a bit at this. “Aye.” He released a heavy breath. “It’s prayin’ that we should be doin’, not threatenin’.”

  “Well, I’m not convinced that will help, either,” Tavin said, “but at least it won’t break the law or leave anyone worse for the wear. So I’ll leave you to your praying and get back to my drilling.” Tavin gave his father a nod and exited the building in search of his tools. There were still a good number of hours left in the day and rock to be blasted. With any luck at all, he could use the work to help him forget about Knox and his lovely daughter.

  Tavin gave a harsh laugh. “But then, if I were the lucky sort, I wouldn’t even be here now.”

  “You look madder ’n a wet hen,” Gillam said, stepping up to walk in perfect stride with his brother.

  “Leave me be, Gillam.”

  He only laughed. “You’re in a fine mood. Old Mr. Knox get under your skin?”

  Tavin said nothing and continued walking. Gillam couldn’t seem to take the hint and said, “I suppose he found out that you’d seen Emmalyne. I don’t know how the man could expect it not to happen. They live less than three miles down the road.”

  “Gillam, shut up.”

  Still the younger man refused to stop. “You haven’t said much about your encounter, even if it was over an attack of the measles. Is she still as beautiful as you remember, or has she grown into an old hag?”

  Tavin stopped and looked straight into Gillam’s face. “You would do well to let the subject go. I find my patience has run out.”

  Gillam gave a nonchalant chuckle and pushed his hat back. “My, aren’t we testy today. A body would think you were still in love with her.”

  Tavin put his fist into Gillam’s face without so much as a word. Blood spurted from his brother’s nose, but the younger man remained standing. He looked utterly shocked by Tavin’s actions, and in truth, they had surprised Tavin himself. Even so, he wasn’t going to admit to it.

  “I said . . . let it go.”

  “Reverend Campbell, it was so good of you to come by and visit,” Emmalyne said, offering the man another piece of shortbread. “Your sermons were always some of my favorite.”

  The man smiled, shook his head, and waved off the plate. “Thanks, but I’d best not have a second delicious piece of that shortbread,” he said with a chuckle. “You are kind, Miss Knox, to remember my sermons from that long ago. And I remember your family well. You’re quite welcome to join us on Sundays. We’d be glad to have you and your family back with us.”

  “I would be glad for that, too,” Emmalyne said softly, putting the plate aside. “However, it would be difficult to get to town. We have but one wagon, and my father is generally using it.”

  “Would he not take time out on the Lord’s Day to accompany you and your mother?”

  “No, I’m afraid he wouldn’t.” Emmalyne offered no explanation, and the kindly reverend did not ask for one.

  “Perhaps there are others in the area who might offer you and your mother a ride. The MacLachlans, for example. They live just to the west of you, and I’m sure they’d be willing once they are out of quarantine and can resume their usual attendance.”

  The last thing Emmalyne wanted was to ride to church on Sunday with the MacLachlans and Tavin. They used to attend church together . . . back in the good days. They both felt church not only their duty, but their privilege. They had enjoyed the fellowship of other believers and had experienced great comfort in attending. They had praised the Reverend Campbell’s sermons, discussed them on occasion, and thought him a wonderful pastor.

  “I can’t say at this point,” Emmalyne finally replied. She sipped her tea and shrugged. “With our own quarantine, it’s hard to say when we might be able to come to town. I know Mother will be grateful that you visited, however. I’ll let her know of your invitation when she wakes up. She’ll be sorry to have missed you.”

  “I’m sorry, too. Sorry to hear there has been so much trouble for your family.” He looked at her in his gentle way and smiled. “You know, Emmalyne, God may seem far away in times of trouble, but He isn’t.”

  “Yes . . . at times it certainly feels like it.” She didn’t want to pour out the details of her life to the pastor, but at the same time Emmalyne sensed Reverend Campbell would truly understand.

  “It can feel quite difficult,” he commented quietly.

  She tried to smile. “Life used to be so much better than this, Reverend. I thought it would always be so, because I belonged to God. I believed all the things the Bible said, and I tried hard to live by the Word of God. I really didn’t think He would allow bad things to come my way.”

  “You certainly never heard me say that it would be so,” the elderly man replied, slowly raising his eyebrows.

  She shook her head. “No, I suppose I didn’t. Call it girlish whimsy if you would.” Emmalyne smoothed her skirt and lifted her face to the ceiling. “I just somehow had it in my mind that Christians were protected from such things. And I suppose that was how my life had been up until . . .” She didn’t finish the sentence.

  “I think God’s care for His children is often misunderstood. But we must remember that God ‘spared not his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.’”

  Emmalyne nodded. “That’s from Romans eight, verse thirty-two. I know it well. Even so, the rest of the verse says, ‘. . . how shall he not with him also freely give us all things?’”

  “But has He refused you all things?” the pastor asked. “Is God keeping good things from you?” His expression betrayed just a hint of amusement.

  “Well, He’s certainly refused me a good number of them,” Emmalyne replied, feeling slightly irritated.

  The old man nodded knowingly. “Still, my dear, the entire eighth chapter of Romans offers great insight. Think on this. ‘For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.’ That’s verse eighteen.”

  Emmalyne nodded and admitted a bit sheepishly, “‘Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities: for we know not what we should pray for as we ought: but the Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groanings which cannot be uttered.’” She and Tavin had once memorized the entire chapter of Romans eight. They had declared it would be their life chapter.

  “Ah, verse twenty-six.” The reverend leaned forward as if in a debate. “And twenty-seven tells us, ‘And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for the saints according to the will of God.’”

  Emmalyne sighed and eased back in her chair. “‘According to the will of God,’” she repeated. “But I’m not always sure what His will for me might be. Just when I think I understand it, something comes to vex me and steal away my peac
e.”

  “Such is the way of the world,” Reverend Campbell replied. “You must go back up to verses five and six. ‘For they that are after the flesh do mind the things of the flesh; but they that are after the Spirit the things of the Spirit. For to be carnally minded is death; but to be spiritually minded is life and peace.’”

  She drank in the words as if water for her parched soul. The reverend’s gentle instruction finally broke through the brittle façade she’d tried to keep around her wounded soul. “Yes. I must set my mind on spiritual matters. That is where I have strayed.” She looked at him and felt the burdens of her life ease a bit. “I’m so glad you came here today. I have been putting my mind on the wrong things, and with this visit, you have helped to set my mind right again.”

  He got to his feet and handed her his teacup and saucer. “I am glad we could speak of such things together. Putting one’s mind right is the larger part of such battles.”

  Emmalyne nodded. Now if she could just get her heart to follow suit.

  Chapter 14

  Angus’s condition went from bad to worse. Despite all their efforts, he continued to weaken. And then pneumonia set in.

  “You will want to keep moving him,” Dr. Williams instructed them. “Elevate him so the fluid in his lungs can drain. Don’t leave him in one position for more than an hour or two. If you keep turning him and encouraging him to cough, he will be able to rid himself of the mucus.”

  Mother’s eyes welled with tears. “I cannot lose him.” She wept softly, and Emmalyne wrapped her arm around her mother’s shoulders. “God is dealing most severely with us, Emmy,” she said, shaking her head. Emmalyne wished Pastor Campbell were there to comfort them and provide the wise instruction he’d recently given her.

  She watched as Jason Williams finished examining her brother. Angus was barely conscious, almost oblivious to what was happening around him.

  “Angus, you must take in more fluids, and you must do your best to practice taking in deep breaths. I know you have pain when you breathe, but it is imperative that you do as I instruct. Do you understand?”

  Angus said nothing but gave the doctor the slightest nod. Dr. Williams looked to Emmalyne. “You must work with him to get him to breathe deeply. I would also recommend you pound on his back for a good ten or fifteen minutes at least four times a day—more if you have the time. This will help to loosen the mucus and make it easier for him to cough.” He rolled Angus onto his side and showed Emmalyne how to use the flats of her hands to perform the task.

  “I will do it,” Mother said, stepping forward, her voice firm. “I will see to it that he recovers.” She brushed aside her tears and fixed the doctor with a most determined gaze. “I am his mother, and he needs me.”

  Emmalyne was delighted to see her mother take initiative. It apparently pleased Dr. Williams, as well, for he flashed a small smile before continuing to demonstrate.

  “The rash is clearing up, but he’s weak. With the added complication of pneumonia, he is far sicker than I would have liked to see,” the doctor explained. “However, he’s a strong young man, and he should be able to overcome this with the proper care.”

  The doctor finished his demonstration, looking pleased to hear Angus cough, and eased him back onto the pillows. But Angus hardly acknowledged the action, and Emmalyne worried that he was far more ill than Dr. Williams was letting on. She intended to question the doctor about it once they were away from Angus and her mother.

  “It’s good to see you looking better, Mrs. Knox,” Jason said, gathering his equipment. “Your color is much improved. Sometimes just having a sense of purpose gives us a healing all its own.”

  She nodded but kept her gaze on Angus. “I will nae leave him until he’s recovered. ’Tis the only purpose I have.” Emotion made her Scottish accent thicker.

  “I have some refreshments in the kitchen if you’d like,” Emmalyne offered Dr. Williams. “I’m sure you’ll have a great many more patients to see before you can get to your supper.”

  He smiled and tucked the medical bag under his arm. “I do have patients, but I’d like very much to enjoy some more of your shortbread—if you have it.”

  Emmalyne nodded. “Mother, we’ll be just down the hall if you need us.”

  “I will be fine,” Mother replied, turning back to Angus.

  Emmalyne led the doctor to the kitchen. She arranged a cup and saucer on the table, then brought a small plate to add to the arrangement. Next came the teapot.

  “I have some shortbread,” she told him, “but perhaps you’d favor a piece of pie instead.”

  “I am quite fond of pie,” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  His enthusiasm pleased Emmalyne. “I hope you like gooseberries. I picked them myself.” She went to a kitchen drawer to retrieve a knife and fork. “I found a great many bushes down by the water. They were so heavily loaded I couldn’t help but put them to good use. I’ve made jam and jelly and now this pie.”

  “I do like gooseberries, especially in pie. My grandmother and mother both made it for me as a child. We often collected the berries as a family when I was very young.”

  “It’s tedious and painful work,” Emmalyne admitted, “but I find the tart flavor so refreshing.” She handed him the plate and turned her attention to the tea. “Would you like cream or sugar for your tea?”

  “No, this is quite all right.” He picked up the fork. “Won’t you join me?”

  “Not for the pie, but perhaps a cup of tea,” she said and hurried to take down another cup and saucer. “I want you to be honest with me,” she began carefully as she took a seat at the table and poured herself some tea.

  “I’ll do my best. What’s on your mind?”

  Emmalyne met his curious expression and took a deep breath. “Will my brother recover?” She hated to even voice the question, but she had to know the truth.

  “He’s quite sick, as you no doubt can tell. And his recovery will depend largely on his care and God’s will. I would like to see him moved to the hospital, but your mother has made it clear that this is not acceptable to her. I don’t suppose you can change her mind on that, can you?”

  “No, it’s not so much her mind that must be changed. My father won’t hear of money being spent for something he believes can be attended to at home. And not only that, but both Mother and Father see hospitals as a place one goes to die. It would be akin to giving up, in their eyes.”

  “I understand. However, your brother is very weak, and because of that he will have a harder time clearing his lungs. It’s one of the main difficulties with measles. Often the disease itself doesn’t kill, but the complications do. Pneumonia is particularly serious.”

  She considered his words. “Would poultices help?”

  “I doubt it. I know there is some speculation that vaporized herbs can help, but I can’t actually recommend them. Pounding on his back as I showed you will do him the most benefit. That and keeping him from lying in one position too long.” He picked up the fork and sampled the pie. “Ummm, this is delicious. My compliments.”

  Emmalyne gave a distracted smile. “I’m glad you like it.” She sipped her tea and thought about Tavin and his family. How were they doing? Had they fared just as poorly with the measles as Angus?

  “Can you . . . would you be able to tell me how Fenella and her sons are doing?”

  “Better, actually,” he replied. “The boys are very nearly over their outbreak, and Fenella is improving. At least where the measles are concerned.”

  Emmalyne frowned and shook her head. “I don’t understand. Does she have some other ailment, as well? Did she contract pneumonia also?”

  “No. It’s just that her mental lapses have continued in the same manner.”

  “What does that exactly mean?”

  “She’s . . . well . . . emotionally unbalanced, I’m afraid.” He took a long drink of tea and studied the pattern on his cup. “She’s taken leave of her senses since her husband’s death. I th
ought you might have heard by now.”

  “No,” Emmalyne said, shaking her head in disbelief. “No one has said a word. Oh, this is terrible. Poor Fenella. Will she . . . I mean . . . can she recover?”

  He shrugged. “There’s no way of determining when or whether that will happen. When her husband’s death was reported to her, Dr. Schultz told me she screamed for hours on end. They medicated her to calm her down. Keeping her in a state of near unconsciousness was the only way to control her behavior. Dr. Schultz was afraid she might hurt herself or others. I’ve spoken to Mrs. MacLachlan about the matter on several occasions, and I tend to believe Fenella should go to a hospital or institution, where she can receive the latest care for such trauma.”

  “I’ve heard awful stories about those places,” Emmalyne said with a shudder. “I read an article in the Minneapolis newspaper that spoke of all sorts of experiments being practiced on the mentally ill.”

  “It’s true . . . such things do take place. Doctors cannot always know what might help a patient without first trying it. Often that has negative results.”

  “I would hate for someone to experiment on Fenella.” Emmalyne pictured the cheerful, attractive friend she had known so well. Her heart ached, imagining the poor woman unable to handle her misery. “Is she able to speak?”

  “Not really. She rambles from time to time, but it’s usually nonsensical. She can be quite violent at times, and that is the most important reason I believe the MacLachlans should send her away. She’s hurt her boys on several occasions and now cannot be allowed to go near them. She’s even a danger to herself, the result being she’s kept locked in her room with nothing in it with which she could do harm to herself.”

  Emmalyne’s hand went to her mouth. “Oh, please, say it isn’t so.”

  “I’m afraid it is most grave,” Dr. Williams replied. “She is seriously ill.”

  “Do you think I could visit her? Might that help?”

  “It’s possible that seeing someone from her past could help her.” He paused and shrugged. “It’s also possible it could cause further trouble. The mind is so complicated, and we know very little about it. I wish I could be more encouraging to you on this matter.”